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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640623">Flightless Bird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelightone/pseuds/littlelightone'>littlelightone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Closure, Dark Past, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Mental Illness, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Prison, Redemption, Therapy, but with who?, reunion au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:33:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelightone/pseuds/littlelightone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been years since the host club had seen the bright and bubbly Haruhi Fujioka. Standing in her place, 5 years later at their High School Reunion, stood a tentative and solemn woman with little traces of her former self. Her name had been in and out of the news for years, but it wasn't until now that she was seen in person. So much has changed, and the club is determined to find out who, or what, has changed their former friend into who she is now. With whispers of her fathers name throughout the country, Haruhi will do anything that she can to remain an enigma, content to be in the shadows.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fujioka Haruhi/Ootori Kyouya, Fujioka Haruhi/Suoh Tamaki, Har - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Possible Mistake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Click. Click. Click.</p>
<p>The sounds of the clock seemed to ring through the sound of silence and Haruhi seemed to focus directly on it. This seemed to be a trend lately; hyperfixation to the point of not being able to breathe without the sound permeating her mind. Consciously, she knew that the woman sitting across from her was well aware of what she was doing to avoid their session, but part of her cared very little. The clock was always something consistent. It wasn’t prodding questions out, or making her truly sit back and reflect on her week. No, it was just a clock. A steady tap against the back of a clipboard brought her back into the reality of her situation, and she looked up to see her therapist rapping softly against the wooden board. All remained silent while they held each other's gaze, and Dr. Ito was the first to speak.</p>
<p>“Haru, I’m not quite sure why you keep booking me when you will just stare at my wall decor for the entire session”. Her voice was light and humorous, able to drive the point home without seeming accusatory. Haruhi grimaced at the use of the nickname; it’d been years since anybody had called her by that name, but Naomi Ito didn’t seem bothered by her patient’s reaction. To her, this was just another form of desensitization, a hierarchy of fear that she was slowly unraveling in the life of the dark haired woman that she had now been counseling for almost 7 months. Sometimes, they talked like friends. Others, Haruhi simply answered in monotone a “yes” or “no” when Dr. Ito prodded into her life, trying to unravel who she was at her core. It had been like this since she first booked a consultation.</p>
<p>Haruhi leaned forward, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. This week had been a shitshow, and she knew that it would be too much to unload in their block of 60 minutes. She willed herself to run through her week, the snide remarks from her co-workers, breaking a casserole dish as she pulled it out of the oven, TV breaking. All of these were minor occurrences,but at the time, they were like the world crashing around her. No, she had one event that she could deem worthy of a session. Opening large honey colored eyes, she rolled her neck back and stared at the ceilings of the room. After a few moments of gathering her thoughts, willing her voice to remain neutral, she spoke. “My father called me yesterday.”</p>
<p>Dr. Ito either was not phased by this, or simply didn’t show it. Haruhi could hear the scratch of the pen against the clipboard, notes that she didn’t care to think about. “How did that go?”. Her brain seemed to snap back to reality, and she answered in a clipped tone, “As well as it could. There’s not much to talk about these days, if you haven’t noticed”. Years ago, she wouldn’t have dared snap back with a retort, much less to the woman who was supposed to be helping her heal. Now, it was like she was throwing her defences in the form of offense. The taller, raven-haired woman sitting across from her gave a small smile. “You are completely valid to feel the way you do. I recognize that, and it is progress”. Ever so positive. The validation did nothing to quell her impatience and irritation. “He’s as fine as he can be. They restocked the commissary and he has been able to work a little bit and get his shrimp snacks. The other inmates still harass him.”</p>
<p>For the remaining 15 minutes of the session, Dr. Ito asked questions fluidly. “Have you been taking your medication?”. “Are you drinking enough water?”. “Have you been practicing our exercises?”. Haruhi responded just as she had earlier, rattling off answers without properly thinking about them. Of course she hadn’t been practicing the exercises. There was virtually no time to, she thought to herself. Alagon Technology had just released a new set of products, a line of laptops she hadn’t even bothered to use herself. No, crunching numbers, directing people to where they needed to be, those were activities that consumed her days. Not breathing in a rectangle. The small egg timer on the therapist's table dinged, and Haruhi quickly gathered her belongings. She dipped her head, agreeing to another session for the following Thursday before making the trek back to her car.</p>
<p>The drive back to her condo was one she knew by heart. She had lived there for two years already, and finding her way back was like working on auto pilot. By the time she had parked and gathered her belongings, she was bone weary and almost did not notice the postcard and letter that were waiting for her under the door frame. The slender woman silently thanked her mailman, who had continued to deliver the letters that had been forwarded to her new address after the move. She nearly stepped on both of them, and seeing the card signed by Tamaki Suoh prompted her to set it neatly on the growing stack of unread cards that had been seated on her counter. This was not an avenue she wanted to go down tonight, not one that she had the energy to even think about. A meow seemed to shake her from her disassociation, and the fat orange tabby she had found behind the building wove between her legs, begging for her attention. She gave Jones, as she affectionately called him, a quick scratch behind the ear.  Haruhi retrieved a glass from the cabinet, pouring herself a glass of Penfolds Grange. She kicked off her heels, settling into the couch and staring down at the second envelope. She knew the Ouran High School seal like the back of her hand, though it still took minutes to process it. </p>
<p>“You are formally invited to the five year class reunion of Ouran High School, Wednesday the 22nd at 7pm.”</p>
<p>Slender fingers ran across the ivory edges of the letter, blankly taking in the texture alone. The gold emblem was almost offensive in the center of it. It took several tries to read over the words, and even longer to ponder why the hell a highschool was hosting a five year reunion. Rich people, she thought to herself. Any excuse to dress up and flaunt generational wealth. The remainder of the night passed at a painstaking pace, the steady refilling of the wine glass seemed to do little to speed up this process. There was logically little reason to attend this reunion; she hadn’t even spoken with the club in a little over 3 years, and even her brief correspondence had left her on edge. A tiny part of her did yearn to revisit the familiar halls. Maybe this could be a good thing. Maybe it could be the worst mistake of her young adult life. Maybe it was time for her to fall asleep on the couch, succumbing to a dreamless sleep with the purring cat nestled underneath her chin.</p>
<p>It took several days for Haruhi to convince herself to attend this event, and when Wednesday loomed over her that week, she had made her decision. Slipping on a dark magenta dress, she clasped the earrings into her ears and gazed back at her reflection. “Get over yourself,” she told her reflection, which stared back at her with a wild expression. Even after all these years, she was not one to fixate on appearance too long. The dress was simply a formality, one she had bought during a work conference earlier this year. Pinning back her short cropped her, she thought to herself. This is happening. It took approximately 23 minutes for the cab to arrive at her building, and 46 minutes to pull through the golden gates of her former high school. Everything seemed so familiar; the topiary, the arches of the building, all of it. Tousling her previously neat dark hair, Haruhi climbed the stairs of the school and quickly found her way to the banquet hall. The number of students was shocking, and she seemed to blend in fine with exception of the occasional whisper and glance her way. </p>
<p>The champagne being passed throughout the crowd dulled her nerves slightly, and the occasional chit-chat with former classmates seemed almost normal. They discussed work, and when the conversation steered to how she suppressed her gender within the host club for so long, she diverted it back to mundane small talk. Excusing herself, Haruhi weaved her way out of the crowd, leaning against the back wall and allowing her brain to focus on singular sounds; clinking of glasses, laughs in regards to past experiences, anything but the rising regret that filled her chest. On the table to her right, there were 32 ornate honey cakes (minus the two a giggling former classmate snatched as she danced by). To the table to her left, two men chatted in a heated conversation, and though she couldn’t catch the words, she knew that it was a competition of barely stifled bragging. Lost in her thought, she didn’t notice the tall blond man padding in her direction, and barely registered the soft “Haru?” that left his lips. </p>
<p>Tamaki Suoh stood before her, and he hadn’t changed one bit. The same shocked expression that he wore was one she had seen before when he found out she was not a young man. The same cornsilk hair. It took only a few seconds before he was pulling her towards his chest, body shaking slightly as he held her close. Her body stiffened, and she fought the urge to flee as her heart rate elevated. She couldn’t will herself to speak, only gently push him back from his embrace. “It's been a long time,” was all that she could muster before she saw the familiar faces of her past host members begin to close in on her. Coming was definitely a mistake, and one she couldn’t flee from no matter how hard she wanted to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Diving too deep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Re-introductions are in order for the hosts as the approach their former member, ecstatic to finally speak to her in person. Haruhi realizes she should have slipped out while she had the chance, tossing her drip, clutching her purse, and hurrying out of the building. One host member in particular can recognize her, but not in the way that she wished he did.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time in months, Haruhi actually used what little of Dr. Ito’s lessons that she could. Her heart rate was elevated, and her breathing was beginning to feel ragged; it had been months since a panic attack threatened to rear its ugly face. She was all too familiar with the feeling, the sensation of drowning and inability to form a simple word, let alone scream for help. The first time it hit her she could barely peel herself off of the shower floor, and when she did, could only weakly sob into the phone to her bewildered father. That would not happen again, especially not here. “Square breathe!” a voice screamed in her mind, willing her to break the shock coursing through her body. The slender brunette gave a long inhale, pausing for a few moments before exhaling and willing herself to meet the eye of her former host club member,  jaw clenched slightly. </p>
<p>Everything about Tamaki felt familiar, from the way the dark and earthy smell of his cologne to the way that his blue eyes seemed to be full of wonder. In that moment, time stood still and she was really able to take him in, to analyze what (if anything) had changed. Attire was the last on her list; the tailored suit was something she could have pictured him in even if it was only in passing. No, that was the same. His subtle features...now those had changed. Discoloration marred under those large eyes, almost a light purple; was it lack of sleep? Stress? Her own eyes got like that sometimes, when she had spent countless hours sitting in her uncomfortable company chair. The familiarity both comforted her and alarmed her, a dichotomy of emotions that left her even more unnerved by the affection show. </p>
<p>He stood stunned, only reaching up to run his fingers along her cheek and brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You kept it short, after all these years, huh?” She grimaced, flinching out of his reach and snapping her gaze up to meet that of the crowd of men approaching quickly. “Yeah, it’s just easier this way”, Haruhi responded flippantly, polite yet short. Snapping out of his trance, a grin lit up his face and the Tamaki she knew all those years ago was back in full force, practically vibrating with joy. “Guys! She’s here! It’s her!” His voice was filled with glee, and she could see him go to reach for where her hands would have been had she not had one clasped against her side and the other holding her champagne flute with a white knuckled grip. She pretended not to register the confusion and glimmers of hurt in his eye when he registered this. Like a doe in the headlights, her first instinct was to flee. She was not a doe anymore though; she was not going to freeze or flee. </p>
<p>The Hitachiin twins were the second host members she saw, already rushing her way and crashing into her. The flute fell from her hand and shattered on the ground, but they didn’t seem to take notice, crushing her smaller frame into a tight hug. Struggling out of this one took a little more time, and a small and clipped “Quit!” left her lifts as she attempted to slip from their grasp. Glass crushed underneath her heel, and if she hadn’t perfected her balance in them over the last few years, she would have promptly landed on her ass. “I’ve missed you so much!” Hikaru breathed, hand braced up against the wall as he grinned down at her. “We’ve missed you”, Kaoru correctly, elbowing his twin in the ribs lightheartedly. A small laugh escaped her lips, though her muscles remained tight and ready to snap. “I’m glad to hear that I seemed to leave an impact on you guys.”<br/>
“Idiot, of course you did! You don’t just go 3 years of doing practically everything together and then just FORGET the person you were beside!” Tamaki piped up, clasping his hands together and bouncing on his heels. I wish I could, she almost responded, though bit her tongue. They didn’t deserve that sort of venom, and she knew it deep down. It’d be so much easier to just let it out though, plant that shadow of a doubt in their mind, maybe leave them off-put and able to pass her off as being a bitch. No matter how much that appealed to her, she didn’t. The twins looked much different than she remembered, mostly due to the fact that their differences were so much more exaggerated. Hikaru dressed almost casually, his suit unbuttoned at the top and hair slightly longer than she had seen it before. She remembered seeing his name somewhere in a magazine perched upon her receptionist's desk; he was a designer now, right? Kaoru, however, definitely took after his father with a shorter and more sleek crop of hair and a slight shadow of a beard along his jaw and chin. They both looked so much older, yet still so young. “Geez, if we had known you were coming we would have brought some more demos! The summer line looks absolutely ravishing on you,” Hikaru purred, and she stiffened slightly as he seemed to fall back into his flirtatious tone. Shit. This magenta piece did have a Hitachiin label stitched on the collar; not something she would have ordinarily thought about.</p>
<p>The third member that approached the little group huddled against the ornate wall was one that had an obvious physical set of changes; Mitsukuni Haninozuka, once the “lolita” of the Host Club, a title given to him by their manager and finance director. Long gone were the soft and boyish features he had once donned, now replaced by a tall and rather broad figure. It struck her all at once; maybe her dream had been real, and Kyouya had been giving him vitamins to stunt his growth. She didn’t dwell on it long, and she let her demeanor relax slightly around him. Honey had always been one of the kindest hosts to her, and the least likely to put her in a position of discomfort. “Haru-chan!” he speaked, almost darting to give her a hug before stopping himself, suddenly sheepish. It was as if he had been able to register the shock at his “growth spurt”, and simply beamed down at her. “Where’s Mori-senpai?” she said tentatively, peaking to the side of him and seemingly ignoring the twins and Tamaki speaking in hushed whispers as they shot glances over their shoulder towards her. Good. They were apprehensive. Honey gave a small shrug. “I think he had work today...at least I remember him saying that”. Digging into his pocket, he retrieved his cellphone (one from her company’s original lines, which surprised her; that line seemed to defect after a year or two of use), quickly scrolling through as if retracing his steps. “Ah, yes! He had a ‘work thing’,” visible air quotes, and he laughed in the all-to-familiar giggle that she had loved as a host. “Code for a date, I think!”.</p>
<p>If she wasn’t already overwhelmed, she was definitely reaching her breaking point by the time Honey had begun to close in to their tiny circle. The waves felt as if they were crashing over her head, a cacophony or questions and unwanted touches on her arms, shoulders, her body in general. Things that would have been fine and comforting at 18 now left her chilled to the bone, as if the frigid waters that she was imagining were tangible and threatening to drag her under. Hearing the voice of the person that had inadvertently sealed her into the position that she was in caused her head to snap up, eyes large and nearly wild. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite doe-eyed host, here in the flesh,” Kyouya Ootori drawled, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose as he approached the flock of past host members, “It was nice of you to actually make your appearance; in person, as opposed to tabloids, that is.” Something in her seemed to snap, and the anxiety that was once causing her to stand stock-still was replaced by something new: rage. Rage that after all these years he had the nerve to even open his mouth to her, and the comment about her even being involved with the media circus that seemed to control her life left her narrowing her eyes and curling her lips into a scowl. “Hello, Kyouya,” Haruhi responded coolly, without even a trace of warmth that she once offered as a nicety to the other members. </p>
<p>Her brain told her this was illogical, that even had she not stumbled into that music room 7 years ago she would have possibly ended up in the club. She would have lived her life, maybe moved out of the city before she developed any sort of attachment or nostalgia towards it. No, in this moment, the snap of his tone nearly set her off and if she showed any sort of weakness of change in demeanor, he would notice it. Staring at her previous “manager”, she let familiarity and alienness blend together; his face was young, yet so icy that it could have been much older than she knew he was. Deep circles sat below the rims of his glasses, and his nose seemed to be more crooked than it once was. She wasn’t particularly open to analyze it, however. Haruhi realized then that she needed to cut this reunion, in all sense of the word, brief and slip out as soon as she could. </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> o-o-o-o-o </p>
</div><p>Kyouya wasn’t an idiot, and that was for sure; he may have lost the calm demeanor that he had donned years earlier to a degree, but his innate sense to tell changes in behavior were damn near perfect, and some were just easier than others to spot minor differences. Haruhi Fujioka was one that he had once been able to read like the back of his hand. Hell, he was the first to know her true gender, and revelled in how amusing that reveal had been. The lean, raven haired man instantly realized that something was much more intriguing about her than simply her stand-offishness. He watched her interact with each of his previous host members, looking uncomfortable at best and panicked at most. This was not the bubbly young woman that he remembered when he bid his farewell from Ouran and rose to the position of heir to his father’s estate. No, this was a new puzzle, fresh from the box. One that he was almost instantly gravitating toward. Call it boredom or call it a hunch, but this stranger standing before him was no longer someone he once knew; she was an enigma wrapped up with a pretty magenta bow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope that you guys enjoyed the chapter! It will definitely be a bit slow to start, but I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve; Ranka will actually play a HUGE role in this story, and I promise Haruhi is not the trembling little girl that she may appear during the beginning stages of a panic attack. This chapter was fun to write, especially to put into words my own experiences with panic attacks. Drop some feedback and comments below! Would love to hear from you guys :)<br/>Eleanor</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Blind Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A time that will never be again, and the moment which should have never been.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h5>
  <i>Then</i>
</h5>
<p><br/>
Ivory floors and leather couches lined the waiting room of Aragon Tech, and Haruhi couldn’t help but gawk at the luxury that the building seemed to radiate. Even after all of her years at Ouran, a school that seemed to embody the attitude of “money can buy appearances”, an appreciation for the beauty in it all seemed to rush back into her. A small part of her held onto the nostalgia of feeling out of place, and it gave her just the push to approach the front desk woman with her messenger bag in tow. The receptionist held up a finger, other hand pressed against the telephone that she was occupied with. Her patience was something she held close, though minutes passed before the woman looked up.</p>
<p>“Appointment time?” she drew out in an almost uninterested tone, and Haruhi grimaced slightly, though had to shove the thought that she was being an inconvenience out of her mind. “I’m actually here to talk with Mr. Hatchin, I was hired underneath him last Thursday as a PR rep. Which way is his office?”. The receptionist, who she later found out was named Erin, stared her up and down and Haruhi could feel the judgement scorning her. While she did feel out of place in this environment, she mentally checked off that her attire was appropriate; slacks, a nice blouse, and her now long hair in a neat bun low on the nape of her neck. “You’re welcome to look my name up in the system, I believe I was put on the employee roster before I left my interview,” she sweetly added; she knew this would be enough to throw the disdain back in the receptionists face, and it worked. Erin stared long and hard, before responding in a clipped tone, “Office 320, three floors up and to the right.”</p>
<p>The elevator ride up to office 320 was a brief one, with various other employees bustling in and out as she hit each floor. Closing her honey-brown eyes, Haruhi counted to ten as she stepped out and made a beeline to her new employer's office. This would be a new start, and couldn’t help but grin to herself; this would be a new beginning, something she could really make a name for herself doing. PR was the first step; SEO technologists would be within reach, and once she snagged the position, she would never have to worry about her or her father going hungry again. She knocked once before entering the spacious office, locking eyes with Kota Hatchin, a large man who couldn’t have been younger than 40 with dark eyes and wire-rimmed glasses. </p>
<p>“Hi Mr. Hatchin, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Where would you like me to begin?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o-o-o-o</p>
</div><h5>
  <i>Now</i>
</h5>
<p><br/>
Kyouya approached the huddled mass of host members, and Haruhi could help but straighten her shoulders and stare through him, hands clasped together firmly. At this moment, between the anger and the overwhelming feeling of being bombarded from questions, lacing them together was the only thing keeping her from either taking a swing at Kyouya or pushing the members out of the way so that she could stalk out of this hellhole and leave. Dr. Ito’s voice echoed in her mind. You are not going to heal unless you go out of your comfort zone; it doesn’t have to be all at once, but you have to break the cycle. She knew that her therapist was right, but now was not the time or the place to “break the cycle”. So, she simply put on her icy mask and nodded her head cooly.<br/>
“I can’t believe you actually showed up! Hikaru and I were taking bets on whether or not you’d have time to make it,” Kaoru gushed before adding in, “and by the way, you owe me 2000 yen”. Hikaru stuck out his tongue at his brother, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back against the cool ivory walls. “What Kaoru <i>meant</i> to say was we’re happy to see you.”  Haruhi politely smiled and nodded, almost feeling comfort in the familiarity of their banter. It was short lived; this was not a life she could go back to, feel any sort of solstice in. She couldn’t- no, wouldn’t allow that pull of the host members to drag her back into it.</p>
<p>Lost in thought, she flinched slightly when Tamaki leaned in to rest his palm against her pale cheek, slapping it away instinctively. “Don’t touch me like that,” she nearly hissed, and the shock (and sadness) that seemed to ooze into his features were apparent. I would rather him hate me than be subject to the shitshow that is my life currently, she thought to herself, letting her expression become blank once more. “Haru, you  used to ALWAYS let me do that!” Tamaki nearly pouted, wiping the surprise off of his face and batting his long eyelashes dramatically. Years ago, this would have been endearing; now it just pissed her off. “That was then, and I am asking you politely to not do that again.” This response seemed to momentarily quiet his protest, though she couldn’t help but notice the glance that Kaoru shot him when their gaze met. </p>
<p>Glancing down at the dainty wrist watch that adorned her thin wrist, she noted the time: 7:48. If she booked a taxi now, they would probably be there by the time she was able to slip out..For another 20 or so minutes, she would have a rather easy excuse to leave. Something like the cat needing food, or she had work in the morning, or the drive was so long. That was beauty in making excuses, in telling lies; as long as there was a glimmer of truth to them, they would slip off your tongue, smooth like honey. All of those scenarios were plausible, though she could easily withhold the fact that she would likely pop open a can of food, plop it on the plate for the cat, then go through a bottle of white wine while staring at whatever reality TV show was on until she fell asleep. Again; that was the beautiful thing about lies. They made one seem more functioning than they really were.</p>
<p>Haruhi let her gaze meet Honey, and tilted her head slightly as she watched him speak volubly to Hikaru. Despite the extreme change in his appearance, his familiarity seemed to bring her the most peace. A child-like demeanor and outpour of joy seemed to ooze from him, and she realized quickly that he was the type of person people radiated towards at parties; polite, interested, and talked to people like he saw them as equals. It wasn’t everyday she encountered people like that. Briefly, he met her eye, and smiled brightly. “How has work been, Haru?” </p>
<p>The question threw her off slightly, but it was a topic familiar to her. “It’s been very productive, Honey. I’m in the middle of a new project with our new line of Laptops, so it’s been keeping me busy. A small laugh, genuine this time instead of what she normally used to mask uncomfortableness and or disinterest. From over her shoulder, she heard the brief voice of Kyouya apparently taking interest in their conversation. “Oh? What kind of project is Aragon throwing together now?”<br/>
Once again, Haruhi felt another wave of anger overtake her body. This shouldn’t affect her like it was; even the needling she had received from those in her department couldn’t rattle cold. No, this was an irrational anger, one developed from a stressful situation combined with a need to blame. Gritting her teeth and forcing a smile, she responded. “It’s a photo editing software,” and that was all he needed to know; giving out product information was not something she signed up for tonight. Another glance down at her wrist watch: 7:54. Leaving on the dot would be too obvious, she had to draw this out longer. </p>
<p>At this point, the other three hosts seemed to curiously approach the conversation. Haruhi’s eyes locked on the wall behind Honey, and she attempted to remain focused on the conversation at hand. It was easier to drown everything out and try to regard it as background noise. Right now, she felt like a ticking time bomb. It had been years since she allowed herself to gather in a large crowd like this, let alone with people who had deep history with her. Frankly, it was overwhelming at best and drowning at worst. Hikaru piped up at this point, “You should shoot me a text when it comes out, I’m dying to find a good software for future shoots.” </p>
<p>Haruhi just nodded slightly; this felt like trying to get her new phone number, which she had dropped years ago when Ranka was first on trial. She didn’t need old friends’ pity. Once more, she heard the collected tone of Kyouya, “Interesting, I thought they did that with the old models?”. Something in her snapped and she realized: he was needling her. Wanting to make her look stupid, or trip over her words; to catch her in a lie. The anxiety was there still, but in a new way, a ball of frenetic energy needing to escape somehow. </p>
<p>“Can you shut the hell up, already?” She snapped back at him. The noise seemed to subside for just a moment, her previous classmates started by her sudden tone and change of volume. “All you have done from the moment I got here was criticize my professionalism. I’m not here for you to try to talk down to.” Shouldering her way through the group, she turned her head to meet the other members' gazes. “It was nice catching up with you guys.”</p>
<p>With that, she was striding to the banquet hall entrance, that stupid Hitachiin label scratching her shoulder blades as the host club watched a blur of magenta and pale skin leave the doors to Ouran a second time.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o-o-o-o</p>
</div>Haruhi quickly slid into the back seats of the taxi, and knew it had been waiting for a bit of time for her to actually come out. She didn’t care; she’d pay him extra and leave a nice tip. From the time they pulled out of the driveway until they pulled into the driveway of her condo, she allowed her brain to shut off, blank noise while she enjoyed the silence. It was so easy to shut off sometimes, to allow it to rest; Dr. Ito always says how important rest is, right? She pushed open the door to the condo, reaching down to stroke behind Jones between the ears. Her heels were left at the door, and she was barely in the home before she was stripping out of her dress and into a pair of pajamas.<br/>And like she had planned at 7:48 that night, she allowed the bottle of wine to diminish until it was near the bottom and drifted into a dreamless sleep, the cat once more under her chin, a protector of sorts.
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Have I Found You?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b><i>Then</i></b> </p>
<p>	“You know, I have been trying to write to her.”</p>
<p>Tamaki Suoh sat across from his dark-haired counterpart, twirling the pasta on his plate idly as he gazed down at the table. He didn’t meet Kyouya’s eyes, and the sentence hung in the air between them for several moments. When Kyouya didn’t respond, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, Tamaki continued. “She responded once,” a jab at the scallop that sat atop this pile of noodles, “but after that? No contact. The letters don’t even get sent back anymore.” The Prince rested his check on his palm, and Kyouya could see the hurt in his former colleagues eyes. That was one thing Tamaki had never seemed to truly shake, his ability to feel his emotions so freely, unafraid to show the world how he was really feeling. It was one of the things Kyouya most admired about the Suoh heir. </p>
<p>	“I just wish she reached out. This whole ordeal must be so traumatizing for my Haru...I just know we could help in some way, you know?” Kyouya couldn’t disagree with him to an extent; seeing the Fujioka name plastered across the news was like a cacophony. For somebody to be in the public eye to that degree, it’d be damn near impossible to find any sort of peace. The pair had remained close through the years, though they never spoke of the instances that led to Ranka Fujioka being imprisoned. Hell, none of the hosts did, at least to each other. No matter what theories they saw on news circuits or online, it was not a topic either of them could bring themselves to speculate. The one time that Hikaru made an attempt to bring it up at lunch, he was immediately silenced by his brother.</p>
<p>	When Haruhi did come up in conversation though, it was a general consensus: she was as off the map as you could be when facing a media circus. Not even Kaoru, with a knack for tracking down addresses and information could get a read on her. Kyouya knew the answer; Aragon was paying her well enough to keep her information permanently locked down. Certainly not anything to pry in, but he did yearn for it. As if sensing the discomfort between the pair during conversation, they switched topics, drawing out dinner until it was acceptable to leave.</p>
<p>	Kyouya retired to one of the properties his father had sold him, a small flat on the outskirts of town, close enough to work and far enough to drown out the harsh city’s sounds. They were like nails on a chalkboard to him. To Tamaki, it was a lullaby he embraced. Being in the center of the city was his dream from the time he could remember, and while he was not the type of entertainer that he was in highschool, he was well known for lavish parties. Despite having the money for coordinators solely creating these elaborate mixers, he still loved keeping note of the detail, ways to bring people joy through these events. His job was essential, though the role was laid back at best; come in once a week to oversee product production and speak with management. It was easy to go through life when you didn’t have many harsh responsibilities.</p>
<p>	The two men lived very different lives; their vices were different, their habits. Kyouya smoked the occasional cigarette, and Tamaki would comedically gag. Tamaki seemed to be out at parties every other weekend, while Kyouya steered clear of crowds. Tamaki’s vice was the recreational “upper”; Kyouya’s was downers”. Regardless of it, they had made an effort to meet up for dinner once a month one on one, and once a month with the whole group. Normalcy was the best escapism.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o-o-o-o</p>
</div><br/><p>
  <b>
    <i>Now</i>
  </b>
</p>
<p>	Following Haruhi essentially shoving him out of the way with her sudden push through the crowd, the prior club practically exploded as all of the emotions flooded through each other. Tamaki was rather blank, switching between ferved conversation with Honey and the Twins to long moments of unnerving silence. Hikaru seemed to be the most put off by her demeanor, while Kaoru quietly chimed in either to agree or disagree with his brother. Kyouya simply pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb, the bottom of his glasses digging into the cartilage.</p>
<p> “Jesus, what is up with her?” Hikaru almost groaned, and through the casual facade that he practically lived with, Kyouya could see the genuine hurt in his face. The furrowed brows were a dead giveaway. “Maybe she was just having a bad night…” Honey chimed in, with Kaoru nodding in agreement. Tamaki snapped from his momentary fugue state, and they were all taken aback by the bluntness in his tone.</p>
<p>“I don’t think she wanted to be here regardless. Bad night or not; she’s made it clear that we aren’t a part of her life anymore”</p>
<p>Kyouya blinked slowly, and his voice seemed to cut through the protests of the other members, either taking Tamaki’s side or refuting it entirely. “You seem to have held your expectations too high. If she hasn’t responded to letters or emails, are you surprised that she wasn’t attentive after all this time?” The authority he kept dormant seemed to come out fully at this moment, enough to quell the arguing. Caging it just as quickly as he had released it, he gave a sly smile. “Let us enjoy the remainder of this reunion, shall we?”</p>
<p>And with that, each Host member kept the questions and thoughts they had from spilling out that night. They left speculation to privacy, or possibly tried once more to understand who Haruhi was. Regardless of reaction, they all felt one pure emotion: hurt. They all missed their friend, their confidant, their support. Tonight was the pinnacle of that feeling.</p>
<p>When the Host’s had said their goodbyes and retreated back to their respective homes, Kyouya took the long way home. The drive to his flat wasn’t far, but with enough left turns and loops through the outskirts of the countryside, he could draw it out an extra 15 minutes. Time alone in the car seemed to be when he could think the clearest. He had needled her tonight; it was a conscious act to see what kind of reaction she would have after all of these years. The mellow and methodical Haruhi he knew at 16 was gone, the one who would brush off teasing or jabs. This one was nearly explosive, and for whatever reason, he was certain the cause was still affecting her. It was selfish; we wanted to know why she had left them all, and if she wanted to keep it buried, she should be able to. Curiosity did get the better of him though.</p>
<p>His night was spent reaching out to contacts he had written in a tightly bound book in his desks. Lawyers, financial advisers, and most importantly, investigators. His father knew lines of private investigators across the nation, though they were primarily for money laundering and theft. He knew that Fujita Masen was the person who could be of service to him, safe and reliable. By the time he had given the private investigator all of the information that he had, it was nearly 4AM. His description and requests were simple: look into Ranka’s arrest record and assess how Haruhi’s behavior could be linked to his arrest.</p>
<p> Something tugged at him; this was unethical, and an invasion of privacy. Deep down though, hearing the Host’s talk to him about the past and never asking how he was doing had started to weigh him down. Basically enslaving her to be in the club in High School, the cringe-worthy “psychoanalytical” stunts he pulled to seem much more intelligent than he was. He may have been the cause of this spiral into a new personality, and he needed to know how much of the blame fell upon his shoulders.</p>
<p>He reread the draft several times over, and it wasn’t until the soft clang of the antique clock against the wall signified that it was 5AM that he let his finger click ‘send’. He needed to rest his eyes a bit before work; he’d be up in a few seconds to make coffee and prepare for his meetings. Kyouya Ootori’s shoulders slackened as he leaned his head onto his arms against the desk, and in moments he was asleep. His sleep was filled with Ranka’s voice, telling him that he was responsible for suffering and pain. He sat behind steel bars, taunting him with knowing what life for Haruhi would have been like had she not met them. Even in his sleep he knew his sins, and embraced them fully. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o-o-o-o</p>
</div><p>When the morning sun began to peak through the blinds, and beams of light were just starting to shine onto the pale tile floors, Haruhi found the motivation to crack her eyes open. Today was Thursday. She wasn’t likely to be called into the office; one of her conditions accepting the position of head of technologist was having Thursday off unless there is an emergency. She could stand to miss therapy on Tuesday, but skipping Thursday would just lead to Naomi calling or texting her for an explanation of cancelling. Accountability and schedules were emphasized when she first looked into Dr. Ito as a counselor. She still hadn’t mastered either after all of these months.</p>
<p>While her head didn’t pound from a hangover, she certainly felt fuzzy. Everything around her seemed unfamiliar; being around people that should have remained in her past seemed to throw her out of the loop. Haruhi sat up slightly, rubbing her palms over her eyes before raking her fingers through short, dark hair. A quick look at her phone showed it was almost 7am; the volume had been turned off last night at some point, likely from an email notification momentarily rousing her. Her mouth began to dry when she scrolled through her notifications, and she realized she had missed a call from less than an hour earlier.</p>
<p>“Call from Chīsana Hanzai Prison: 6:21AM”.</p>
<p>Swearing softly, she frantically tapped the screen and called the number back. In the back of her mind she knew it wasn’t going to go through, it never had before, but it was purely instinctual. Haruhi’s mind quickly jumped to blame: who was to blame for her missing this phone call other than herself? Inhaling slowly, she tried once more, to call the number back. When the phone went to an automated message once more, she allowed her shoulders to slump back into the seat of her couch and her head to roll back to face the ceiling.  </p>
<p>She sat like that for what felt like hours, counting the lines and imperfections along her ceiling. It wasn’t until the disgruntled chirping of Jones grew too loud to ignore did she allow herself to get up and stretch the tension from her limbs. Thus, her Thursday routine was to begin. Through occasional flashes of the events at the reunion, she managed to make her coffee, feed the cat, and begin to make herself look somewhat professional for the day- not that she was planning on going anywhere other than her appointment, but it was the least that she could do. The navy skirt was fitted, not close enough to show off what little curve she had but enough to look like it was tailed for her body only, a matching blazer draped over her shoulders in a more casual style. And from 8:42 until 12:45pm, she sat on her couch and scrolled through work emails until her brain was nearly numb to her surroundings.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Closed the Fair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>
    <b>Then</b>
  </i>
</p>
<p>Snow flurries fell across the quiet city and Kyoya knew that it would be a long and cold night. The sidewalks were slick from the rain that had fallen the night before, hardening into a sheet of ice that even tested the limits of the tread on his work shoes. When the city was quiet like this though, when he knew that lovers were bundled under blankets together as they indulged in the romance of the first sign of snow, when children were begging their parents to go play in their suburban backyards, his mind was able to slow down. He often joked to Tamaki that all those years of following him to exorbitant parties had made his brain jumbled, and his friend would laugh and say that Kyoya’s brain should feel right at home when they were out together. It rarely did though; it felt as though it was working too fast, a machine creaking as it ran on congealed oil. It had been two years since High school graduation, and despite not keeping contact with most members regularly, he knew he could call Tamaki at any point for a distraction.</p>
<p>The walk from the Ootori Group’s downtown location to the private parking garage wasn’t one that was long, but on nights like this, every street corner felt like mercy from the monotony that he knew he would face when he returned to his flat. Here, he felt like he could feel the city breathing, alive and full of company. It was a different silence that the one he was so used to at home, almost as though somebody was walking beside him, a gentle support unlike the numbness that possessed him when he crossed the threshold to his new home. His mother had once worried that he was suffering from agoraphobia; he was sure that had she been in Japan still, or remained in contact with her children or ex-husband, she would be laughing at her own silly fears. His home wasn’t what he was scared of leaving. It was simply the knowledge that if he left, he would eventually have to come back, to report back to his father early in the morning when he inevitably rang to ensure his son was home.</p>
<p>The tight thumb that Yoshio Ootori kept on his children had remained through the years, though after Kyoya found the first camera hidden above the stove to survey the living room, promptly destroying it, it was lifted ever so slightly. The youngest Ootori son still suspected there was some sort of surveillance in his home, be it a bug or the countless guards that strolled past the perimeter nightly, though it became easier to ignore with time. </p>
<p>When he actually did reach the parking garage, the snow was coming down harder now, melting his black hair against the nape of his neck like a sheet of oil. His fingers fumbled to pull the scarf up higher, but he knew it wasn’t going to do much to shield his body from the chill. The sleek vehicle, an Audi he had purchased a few years prior, purred to life within seconds of his key being put into the ignition and he took a moment to listen to the hum of the car. Heat blasted through the vents, and it almost stung against the brutal numbness in his toes and fingers. Better than hot leather, he thought to himself, putting the car into drive and following the near-deserted rode home. It wasn’t uncommon for him to take these rides in silence, or with the news playing softly through the speakers, and he allowed his mind to reset.</p>
<p>Headlights lit the desolate asphalt as Kyoya navigated the winding road, the harsh ring of his cell phone from his console startling him slightly, and he tapped the breaks in response. Unknown number. A scam, more than likely, or even an intern who didn’t know any better than to not call him after 8pm. A beep sounded when he hit end. Silence once more. A second call, Unknown number flashing across the screen. Irritation began to grow, and he once more hung up before whoever was on the other line could hear his voice. By this point, the flurries had become stronger, and visibility was low. Better to pull off and silence his phone until he got home and was able to focus; whoever it was could wait until he was rested.</p>
<p>By the time his lights illuminated the flat, and the surrounding long barren cherry blossom trees, Kyoya had 6 missed calls and a single voice message. Fuck it. A drink was deserved, and he set his phone face down so that he could focus on the meticulous pouring of whisky over the chilled stones. Settling into his armchair, drink in hand, he allowed himself to listen to the voice recording. It was faint at first, crackling as though the person on the other line was out of breath, and it may have taken a minute, but the voice could be recognized anywhere.<br/>	“Senpai...I’m so sorry, please, just pick up,” a sharp inhale, like the female voice was trying to hold back tears though they crackled through regardless. “I don’t know who else to call. Inka’s Pharmacy, corner of Third. Please, just pick up the fucking phone.”. A small sob, cut short by the dial tone.</p>
<p>	Haruhi Fujioka. Alive and well, a voice he had only heard while watching her during press conferences that a new tech company had hosted, her hair almost reaching her mid-back and curling into soft ringlets. Haruhi Fujioka, trying to call him, sounding so scared and frantic. Haruhi Fujioka, possibly alone in what was almost a blizzard. Setting his drink down, he barely had time to hastily throw on his coat before he was out the door, speeding back to the city and the direction of Inko’s, a shithole pharmacy that mostly catered to those in lower income areas; not the ideal area, and certainly not one that he would expect Haruhi to live in given her position in the company.</p>
<p>	It didn’t take long for him to realize that the Unknown number was a pay phone. It was one of the older ones of the city, a reminder of a time when cell phones weren’t even a forethought and the easiest way to phone a friend was simply having a handful of change. The receiver hung down, as if it had been thrown, softly tapping against the glass shield as the wind whipped against the shell of shelter. Even dialing her personal number yielded no response, going straight to voicemail; it must be dead at this point. Hours were spent driving back and forth along the roads, grids of tire marks and empty streets. His old friend was nowhere to be found. Even when his knuckles became white against the steering wheel and his eyes were bloodshot, he continued to stare intently through the white windshield, praying he would see that familiar brown hair. </p>
<p>At one point, he pulled over, checking his watch. 3:13AM. He had been out here for two hours, praying to whatever benevolent God was aware of his crisis that his Host member was safe. When he was able to steady his fingers enough to pull his phone out once more, he listened to the message; her voice sounded much different than it had in the numerous recordings he had hearn from Aragon’s website. That voice was cheerful, bright and authoritative in her claims of a “New future of technology!”. This one was almost primal, and he visualized her long hair whipping as the wind battered that small, pitiful phone booth. Gritting his teeth, he continued his search. It wasn’t until the snow fell began to pelt down, threat of hail imminent, did he start the drive home.</p>
<p>Music blared through the speakers this time, and he pressed his foot to the gas as his car sped through snow banks. A voice in his head said that this was dangerous, but the adrenaline and fear he felt was too strong, too loud in his veins. He dialed 110, the operator sending him to the non-emergency line. Couldn’t they understand why this was an issue? Didn’t they see the danger presented? The authority he expressed during his time in the host club reemerged, and Kyoya’s yelling and insistence towards the off-duty officer that his friend was in danger was met with a half-hearted, “We’ll look into it.”</p>
<p>	“Fuck you,” he spat into the phone, slamming it down on the table hard enough to send a small crack spider-webbing across the homescreen. This frazzled feeling was one that he was not accustomed to; he was Kyoya, he was supposed to be cool, level headed, facing the world with a smirk. No. He was the Kyoya who hesitated to call the police, the one that ignored his friends' cry for help, the weak and helpless man whose father was likely listening to every second of this and there was nothing he could do. Something took over him, and in an instant, he was seizing his long abandoned whisky and sending it flying at the cream colored wall. It shattered on impact, amber liquid seeping into the drywall. With that final act of rage, he allowed his body to slide down against the wall, and his tears to slide down his cheeks.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>o-o-o-o</b>
  </p>
</div><i><br/>  <b>Then</b><br/></i><p>“Tell me about the reunion.”</p>
<p>Dr. Ito sat with her thin fingers interlaced, legs crossed and back erect. She exuded calming reassurance; Haruhi hated it. To her, it was the therapist’s attempts to keep a bull from destroying a china shop. A hurricane from whipping through her office, vicious words, and blame, and anger, willing it to dull into complacency. These thoughts were intrusive; if she sat long enough, quiet enough, she could remind herself that Naomi was only here to help, to allow her the time to grow from what happened. A deep breath kept Haruhi’s tongue in line, and she sunk back into the soft suede couch, thumbs etching designs in the smooth fabric. As she started her sentence, she stopped it; memories of the night flooded through her, the raw panic of initial touch from Tamaki, the way her lungs felt like they were being crushed as the hosts surrounded her like a caged animal. “Take your time.” </p>
<p>	She did take her time; it was only 1:15 and she had another 45 minutes to express the absolute storm that the reunion and everything following had been. Gathering her thoughts, Haruhi started. “It was long. I, uhm, didn’t really WANT to go…” The pen scratched against the lined paper Naomi held in her hands, and she nodded towards her client, an indication to continue. “It looked so...so similar to how it had been when I went there. Like I was walking through those doors again, like I did when I was just a dumb kid trying to fit in somewhere I never had business being in the first place.” The tension in her back eased slightly, and she laced her fingers behind her head to lean into them. “They had champagne and those little lace cookies I used to like...I think the chef might be the same from when I went there. Or maybe they had it catered?” A nod, maybe of approval, Dr. Ito meeting her clients eye. “Did you talk to any of your old friends?”</p>
<p>Haruhi almost chuckled; they certainly were old friends, and talking to them again had felt like hell. “Yes. All but Mori was there,” at the small flicker of confusion, Haruhi clarified, “He was the very tall, quiet one. He was very kind to me during my time at Ouran.” It took several minutes of fading in and out of her own memory before she was able to recount everything as it unfolded. “The twins are doing well, I think. Pretty much the same, just with more money. Hikaru designed the dress I wore, this ugly plum colored thing that I bought last fall for an emergency work meeting.” The feeling of his fingers along her spine, checking the label that peeked out of the soft fabric at the nape of her neck. It made her nearly ill just remembering it. “Tamaki...he seemed okay”. The words felt like a lie; he didn’t seem even the slightest bit okay, and opening herself up, she reiterated. “Seemed okay. I don’t think he was…”</p>
<p>“And why do you believe he wasn’t in a good mindset?”</p>
<p>“It was a shock, I guess...it was pretty shitty to essentially waltz in. ‘Hey guys, I know that I blocked all of your numbers and told you to go fuck yourselves in not so many words, but here I am to once more mooch off of Ouran!’” The bitterness in Haruhi’s words were not easily hidden. “I fucked up going, I think. Just...I should have stayed home.”</p>
<p>Dr. Ito was quick as a whip, and her dark eyebrow lifted. “And what if you hadn’t gone? I’m sure it was nice to have some time away from the condo. Even the cat probably enjoyed a little bit of time to roll around in your bed while you were gone.” The laugh that followed was genuine; Ito really did know that the stupid cat was a sort of savior to Haruhi, a matted ball of fur and disdain that seemed to show his attitude wherever he could. Haruhi rested her hand on her chin, leaning forward to dig her knee into the soft part of her thigh. “I know...it was just weird, is all. Not something that I feel like a ‘grew’ from, you know? It just made me feel, I don’t know, more stagnant?”</p>
<p>“Growth isn’t linear, Miss Fujioka. I don’t know how many times I will tell you before it sticks, but you’ve progressed leaps and bounds since last February.”</p>
<p>She nodded, and for the first time in months, didn’t have a bitter response to defensively sling back at her therapist. She rarely let them fly; Dr. Ito didn’t deserve that, in the slightest. But oh how they came to her, an irrational hostility, a way to defend herself. “Kyoya was there, but I’m not surprised. At least he didn’t try to mask his true response to seeing me”. Without waiting for her therapist to question what the end of that phrase meant, she continued. “Was a real asshole. I guess that doesn’t change.”</p>
<p>The remaining 35 minutes were spent discussing the less detailed points of Haruhi’s week; dwelling on the hosts responses to how they saw her seemed to deflate her enthusiasm, and while she was more engaged than she had been at her last session, she could feel her mind falling out of focus. They discussed her job, missing her father’s call and how it just sunk the morning, traffic frustrations. Haruhi paid Naomi Ito for her time; not to psychoanalyze her every second she hit the threshold of the cozy location. It was a good balance; a way to heal, to begin feeling safe. A place she could let her guard down.</p>
<p>When the egg timer sounded, Haruhi thanked the dark haired professional, giving a small bow. “Does 1pm next week work?” Dr. Ito couldn’t help but smile at the traces of enthusiasm that edged into her clients voice. “Yes. I have a slot open for you that day anyway.” With a dip to her chin, Haruhi briskly walked through the side exit and to where her silver sedan was parked, keys wedged between her fingers. Groceries, she reminded herself. Following the winding route to the small string of stores that lined the outskirts of the city, her mind wandered; today might actually be a good day. A day for myself, she thought.</p>
<p>The aftermath of her session weighed heavy on her mind, and the contentment that she felt as she followed her route clouded her anxiety, and certainly the white car that followed her from a distance, inconspicuous as it kept track of Aragan’s head SEO.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Lost You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>
    <b>Then</b>
  </i>
</p><p>Being at Aragon, at least in the early months, felt like walking through the doors of Ouran each time she clocked in to work. Even the small candy dishes that lined cubicles or front desks were lavish, and Haruhi eventually found out through her coworkers that each piece was custom made. “The finest French glass!”, Alis, the younger woman who worked several offices down from her, had once chimed. Alis would have known too; she was Mr. Hatchin’s daughter, and coordinated interior design and tangible marketing outside of the company. Haruhi suspected that the woman got the job purely for her family relationships, though it didn’t seem to matter; she was always kind and always supportive of Haruhi, even when her male coworkers seemed to turn up their noses at any and all ideas that she had.</p><p>Seated at her small desk, Haruhi began to get to work; the current launch site for the companies new line of cellphones was in near shambles and she was once again cleaning up the shaudy work of those within her department. Hyperlinks that led nowhere, gaudy graphics, open access for any viruses that might take over the site should it not be protected. Today would be a long day, and she knew it. Her fingers flew across the keys, starting to fix each imperfection from largest to smallest. This project was going to take her at the very least 48 hours to fully fix, maybe less if she clocked out late tonight and worked on it more at home. Leave it to her to get stuck cleaning up the mess of the overhead designers; being one of only two women in this particular department felt like trying to count sand grain by grain. It was taxing and almost seemed futile, though she knew that Mr. Hatchin had his eyes on her for a promotion, she could just feel it. After this month, the Christmas “bonus” might very well be a shift in her career, one she was hungry for. </p><p>Her gaze slid out of focus, the words on the fluorescent screen fading into the background as she allowed her mind to wander, scanning each of the small knick knacks on her desk. A small photo of her mother and father, hidden behind a stapler. Her senior class photo, Tamaki with his arm on her shoulder, Honey laughing at the twins atop Mori’s shoulders, even Kyoya giving a small smirk at their antics. Nobody seemed to be actively looking towards the camera; they all were lost in the joy of being within each other’s company. Candid photos like this were almost perfect for recreating the mess of energies that resided within the club. Their “official” published club photo made them look like fanservice instead of actual humans, little dolls for the women to fawn over in the club. That was essentially what they were to an outsider; inside the club though, everybody was family, and everybody was a shoulder to lean on.</p><p>Next to that photo was her father, his bright eyes adorned with jewels and dark liner. It didn’t bother her in the slightest to have his work photos out in public; she was, and forever would be, proud of the person Ranka was and how he allowed himself to express creativity. The drag scene had really caught on over the years following her graduation and he had been booked at various nightclubs across the country, the simple stage name “Ranka” known to even those outside of the community. This photo was taken during one of his comedy performances, his chestnut locks teased into beautiful curls, exaggerated eye makeup almost twinkling, and his trademark catsuit hiked up to show hairy legs. Even the glamorous shows he did had a bit of humor to them, and he knew how to get everybody to laugh. Grabbing a pen, she jotted down a reminder to “Call Dad” on her notepad, the ink slipping across the paper as a voice startled her.</p><p>“Damn, you’re really taking creative liberty with corrections aren’t you?” A voice playfully teased, though the contempt peaked through slightly. Haruhi allowed her gaze to drift up to the man who was now looming over her desk. His dark hair was combed over, gel keeping it in a neat and tidy dome above the undercut. He was almost as pale as she was, with teeth of an almost unnatural whiteness. “Good morning, Muraoka.” She signed, rolling her eyes and pulling long dark hair over her shoulder. He gave a smile in response, though said nothing, almost leering over her shoulder as she furiously corrected HTML mistakes. After a few moments had passed, her voice snapped a bit. “Are you going to stare over my shoulder all morning or is there a reason why you’re bothering me while I’m doing work?”. Another smile, though it was almost like baring his teeth. “I was just going to ask what you were doing later tonight.”</p><p>Haruhi stopped her typing and rubbed her temples. “I have to finish up this project and I’m visiting my father tonight”. A lie, partially. She would call her dad, though she knew she couldn’t make excuses to deny his advances for the rest of her time with the company. “C’mon, Haru! A little time on the town wouldn’t hurt you. Besides, don’t you want to let your hair down every now and then?” She gritted her teeth, though the smile she had rehearsed over the years filled her cheeks. “Mura, I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.” Before he could ask again, she reached for the headphones coiled within her desk, popped them into her ears, and went back to typing. If she ignored him long enough, he’d leave her the hell alone; after all, he was one of the “programmers” who presented her with this mess of a website.</p><p>She watched Muraoka prowl away out of the corner of her eye, his dark leather shoes sweeping across the floor. As she continued, she pretended not to notice him staring her down from his cubicle, expression blank and hands folded. </p><p> </p><p><i><b>Now</b></i><br/>
The days following Haruhi’s session with Dr. Ito felt like she was in disconnect; the calm that surrounded her was not one she was keen to, and frankly, she faded in and out of discomfort at the thought. Healing felt foreign, like it was tangible only in a dream, a word that was not within her vocabulary. Yet there she was, sitting in her favorite cafe with a steaming hazelnut Ameraucana beside her laptop. Her shoulders held a fraction of the tension that they normally did, and she allowed her neck to roll back and forth as she studied the Aragon sub-site design. It looked messy and jumbled, and she could only assume that it was the new intern that had led this “team”. Frustration bubbled, though she calmed it; she was an ignorant intern at one point, struggling to gain favor in an office where friendships meant nothing and alliances meant everything. Sighing, she began to draft her email to the department, a list of grievances about the design beginning to fill the page. This part of her job may have been her favorite, as her eye for detail was nearly immaculate at this point, but it was still mental exertion to pick through every small flaw in its design. </p><p>Haruhi finished off her coffee, the remainder of it cold; she had been working for roughly an hour, her legs numb and toes tingling. Allowing her body to stretch, she rose from her seat, something in her back popping as she did; it was time for a trip to the chiropractor, and she knew that. The patrons surrounding her varied in both age and appearance; the young man to her left curled into a booth seemed to be a student, the bags under his eyes apparent as he furiously jotted down notes. The woman to her right was on the phone, a toddler bouncing happily on her knee. Among the customers, each person seemed to be in their own little world; the simplicity of it made her feel at ease. This would always be a safe place for her. As she lazily glanced around, one patron caught her eye in particular; a man with sandy blond hair and a dark green scarf tucked neatly into his coat. The scruff along his cheeks appeared to be either an overgrown beard or simply a patchy one, his face almost ageless; he could be 20 or 40, his face youthful and eyes so tired. Those eyes seemed to meet hers, and he nodded once before looking back down at the novel he was engrossed in. </p><p>The hair along the back of her neck pricked, eyes narrowing; while she knew not to jump to conclusions, her instincts to bolt pooled into her abdomen. Nothing about the cafe’s visitor was particularly intimidating; he seemed clean cut, just somebody trying to work throughout the day. Haruhi backtracked mentally to when she came into the cafe; her feet hit the threshold at exactly 2:37. The bell to indicate somebody else entering sounded at 2:42PM, and she wondered if the flash of green that she saw was that dark silk scarf. You’re being stupid, she chided herself. Something still tugged at her though, and even when she had dropped her head back down to look at her progress in the website analysis, eyes felt like they were gazing through the back of her head. Stretching once more, she allowed a glance back over her shoulder, catching the gaze once again of the man in the booth. </p><p><i>Calm down, idiot,</i> the brunette thought to herself, eyebrows furrowing. Even through the reassurances that she kept reminding herself of, the anxiety that bubbled within her threatened to ruin this beautiful afternoon. The cafe’s older, rickety clock read 4:15pm. Perfect. An hour and a half was a warranted time to spend within the comfort of the shop before she left, time being the excuse she didn’t really need to justify. Gathering her belongings, she hurried for the door, ignoring the soft plink of something small and insignificant hitting the floor, her palms beginning to sweat. As she did though, she froze slightly, the man rising from his position and dropping to the floor to retrieve whatever it was that had fallen from her laptop case. “Excuse me, miss? I think this is yours…” His voice was a lot more gruff than she had expected, like it hadn’t been used in far too long. In his large palms was a pen with Aragon’s company logo printed along the sides. </p><p>“Thanks.” She said sharply, almost snatching it from his hands and turning on her heels. Haruhi knew deep down that her response was cold, even considered rude. It didn’t matter. This was one stranger who she would likely never see again, nor did she want to. Trusting her gut was the most important thing to her at this point and every instinct in her screamed to leave. Practically throwing her purse and laptop bag into the passenger seat of the small car, Haruhi clipped her seatbelt and moved to put the vehicle in reverse. As she passed, she could see the ageless man with the green scarf watching her peel out, and she could have sworn he was getting up to move towards the exit. It didn’t matter; she had a head start. “Of course he isn’t following you, dumbass. Jesus Christ…” she allowed herself to say, knuckles beginning to relax on the leather covered wheel.</p><p>The drive home would be a long one; traffic around this time was bad, so taking the loop around the city to avoid potential wrecks was likely going to be her course of action. It was more time consuming, and she might spend a touch more on gas this way, but it was better than being rear ended by somebody who was unable to see a blinker correctly. Soft music played as she focused on the road, glancing up only to see her rearview mirror. People rarely took the long way around, so seeing a blue SVU and a white sedan being the only patrons behind wasn’t much to think about. Haruhi turned on her blinker, turning right and passing the deserted building where Inka’s pharmacy one stood. Slowing to a stop at the light, she glanced back up at her rearview mirror. The SVU had continued down the straight path, and only the white sedan was behind her now. It unnerved her slightly; windshields that tinted weren’t legal here anymore. How had this person not been pulled over yet?</p><p>Letting her foot press against the gas, Haruhi took yet another right. The sedan didn’t ride her bumper, but it didn’t seem to let up just yet. Another turn, another glance, another look at those tinted windows. Haruhi now began to feel especially flustered. She had to get home. Now. Her slim fingers jammed into the hazards on her car, and she pressed into the gas harder, climbing the speed limit. Her tall apartment building was in sight just a few blocks ahead, the streets nearly empty. On a normal day, she would have taken her time, continued straight. A quick flick of her blinker was the only indication she gave before swinging a hard left, leaving the sedan to continue straight. Of course they would continue straight. They were likely going to the line of shopping centers up and down the avenue adjacent to hers, or hitting the specialty market adjacent to that one.</p><p>Haruhi let her breath return to normal as she pulled into the back entrance of the large parking garage. Her spot, 42A, was empty per usual. After she had gotten the last 3 cars who had attempted to park there over the year towed, she was always a bit giddy to see it empty. Despite the fear of being followed ebbing away, Haruhi’s gait was swift as she climbed the elevator to go into the building. The Fujioka residence was high on the left side of the building, overlooking the now setting sun over the ridges of the city. Auto-pilot was still keeping her going, unlocking the three locks that adorned her door and dumping her belongings at the doorstep. Tonight, she would enjoy a nice glass of the 1945 Rothschild she had been saving; it wasn’t everyday that the world seemed to wake up happy with her.</p><p>Her back faced the window, neck pressed against the cool glass as she watched Jones pounce atop a stray sandwich bag tie, reveling in his joy at something so mundane. Even if she had been facing the window, she wouldn’t have possibly noticed the flash of a telephoto lens from the stories below. Nor would she have noticed the tinted windows of that white sedan rolled down, the end of that green scarf flapping in the breeze as the man with the gruff voice observed her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Phew! Classes have started and are currently kicking my ass, so I do apologize for the chapter delay! Sending lots of love and good thoughts to those who are starting their semesters or new jobs this month </p><p>-Eleanor</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope everybody is having a good month!! Updates will be slow since I just started classes, but I’m having a lot of fun with this story! </p>
<p>Advice/reviews welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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